The Gravity of Light
by Fourier's Lawyer
Summary: Darth Vader has vowed to alienate himself from every remnant of the Jedi, the Light, and the Republic. Only one obstacle stands in his way, for only one figure from his past still remains. Now, she has returned to haunt him.


_I thought of uploading this as a second chapter to my previous story, "The Queen's Redress," but it was just so different in character and perspective that I decided to just make it a separate story. Remember, I'm assuming that_ _Padmé survived the events of "Revenge of the Sith" and is serving in the imperial senate, working to form the foundation of the Rebel Alliance. Enjoy, my dudes!_

I don't own Star Wars.

 **The Gravity of Light**

By Fourier's Lawyer

His tall, ominous form stood, armored, robed, and masked in the most impalpable black. The mechanical cadence of his breath was the only semblance of life left in his forbidding appearance. A void of still darkness, he was a harbinger of fear, even among the Empire's authoritarians.

Although, however dreaded he may have been, the presence of Darth Vader –apprenticed Lord of the Sith, had been deemed necessary. It was on rare occasion that Vader was called to service, especially for such an insignificant reason as this: a gathering of senators and politicians.

Vader, himself saw neither honor nor valor in this tedious occupation. He failed to see the purpose in his presence here: an old palace on the anciently cultured world of Naboo. This was the next major source of his frustration: Naboo had been the home world of the wife of Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala.

Vader's robotic fingers fisted themselves. At times, he _still_ thought of himself as _Anakin_. Anakin Skywalker was dead, he insisted –dead as the Jedi Order, dead as the Republic, and dead as any remnant of these two entities would very soon be. _Dead as Padmé,_ his subconscious reminded him. _Dead as you made her._

He clenched his fists more tightly.

Even in death, she was his weakness. Only when he thought of her, did he think of Anakin. _She_ was the semblance of light in Vader; the light from which he recoiled.

Vader refused to think of himself in terms of his former identity. It was a danger that threatened to erase the truer self he had now become - not that he would dare impart this to the emperor. Sidious had instilled that he leave the past alone; that he keep it from becoming a distraction, and in some ways, Vader vowed to take this to a new level of seriousness.

The senators filed themselves into the architecturally stunning hall, orderly and silent as disciplined troops. Vader examined them with distaste. They, too, had been crucial to the Republic and the many intricacies of its democracy, yet Sidious had not disposed of them. Perhaps he still viewed them as assets to his deluding political games.

At last, the remaining few senators entered and immediately, Vader's heart wrenched.

He gaped at the last in line. He hardly recognized her. _No, it could not be,_ Vader thought. _She is dead… by my own hand. I killed her in my anger._ He desired so deeply to accept the truth: that she was neither a vision nor a dream. Padmé Amidala did, in fact, stand before him.

Beautiful as he remembered her, she wore a long, black gown with a series of cut-out teardrop shapes encircling the neckline. Long, silken sleeves fell elegantly at her sides. A stiff, tight metallic necklace adorned her, complete with earrings of a matching, dark metallic hue. Rather than her usual complex hairstyle, Padmé's hair was braided simply and silkily down her back. Vader had hardly realized how long it now was.

A series of spiked hairpieces encircled her head, forming something that resembled a crown; a crown fit for the radiant queen she was. She was truly a majestic sight, her appearance darker in character, Vader noted, than he had remembered. He always pictured her in black…

Vader felt himself going weak in the knees, recoiling from his own effort to keep still. His heart twisted in his chest most unmechanically. How could Padmé hide from him?

And immediately, he remembered.

Her strangled gasps, choked, desperate cries… they still haunted him. "Anakin," she had pleaded, "Anakin, _stop_ …" _That_ name, again. The moment he nearly murdered her by way of the Force, he had sacrificed any right to her.

And also, he realized that Padmé was no longer pregnant. What had come of his child? Had it been born, or killed in his anger, as she had nearly been? In his selfishness, how much pain had he caused her?

Then, the anger arose within him. A deep, raw, untamed feeling directed not at Padmé, but at his surroundings.

How did she stand among these traitors and vermin as though she were not above them? _She should be ruling by my side,_ Vader thought, _as my queen_. _How dare they stand next to her as though they are her equals?! She. Should. Be. Mine._

 _This_ was why Sidious had placed him here! This was a test of some sort - mockery! He saw it so clearly, now. Sidious mocked him! Even Padmé mocked him! She wore a black dress, so reminiscent of their night in her Naboo palace, the day he had confessed his feelings. Her dark necklace was so reminiscent of the dark force energy closed around her throat, suffocating her. The crown-like hairpieces were a cruel reminder that she was _not_ his queen.

But Padmé had left her stance. She had taken the central stage, poised to speak, her manner refined and elevated. Her gown rippled softly as she moved. She held her head high and began.

"Friends," she said, her voice of the same angelic cadence as Vader remembered, "my dear people of Naboo." She turned towards the larger gathering of Nubian leaders and politicians. "We are gathered here for a primary reason: that is to discuss the terms upon which Naboo is to become a system of the Galactic Empire." Padmé appeared woeful, as though she were speaking of her home world's condemnation. Her head lowered to the ground, she inhaled deeply.

"However," she continued, "I stand here today, not to represent the Empire, but to ask for your support, that I may represent _you_ , the Nubian people, throughout this period of political disarray." Murmurs of assent mixed with confusion followed.

"It is not the galaxy's authorities that I wish to protect - it is our people, for all too often, in the age of the Old Galactic Republic, the needs of citizens were put aside for the continuation of an _orchestrated war_." She silenced herself for a second, allowing this thought to sink in. "The Empire, I fear, may be no different."

A trio of stormtroopers surged forth, threateningly towards Padmé. "Stop, right there!" one shouted. She didn't so much as turn in his direction… before Vader came forward and caught the trooper by the throat. He struggled, clawing at his neck to rid himself of the invisible hands gripping him. His efforts to no avail, the trooper, lifted several feet off the ground, slumped sideways. Vader dropped the man, distastefully. The satisfying crack of bone and armor against ceramic flooring was the only sound to follow the act.

Anger continued to surge through him. The stormtrooper had been ready to handle Padmé like a common criminal! Vader turned abruptly towards the remaining two stormtroopers who were staring in horror at their fallen comrade. They backed away, fearfully.

 _Fools,_ Vader thought them, _submissive as common animals._

"I," Vader growled, in his deep, mechanical tone, "will handle any remaining _occurrences_ from here on."

Padmé, meanwhile, was undeterred. She looked upon Vader primarily with passivity. She stared, unnervingly, her line of sight aligning precisely with his own. They stood mere inches from one another: husband and wife regarding each other for the first time in months. Her face was pure and elegant as it had always been. To stand beside her was torture. _My beloved, are you suffering as much as I am?_ He longed to know.

But he could sense her emotion through the force. She was _disgusted._

"I don't believe we've met," she said, "Lord _Vader,_ is it?" She knew _exactly_ who he was. She knew exactly who he had become. Padmé glared at him, sardonically. Vader had not been aware that she was capable of such an expression.

Why was it that they had to meet under _these_ circumstances. They stood together at the center of a mandala design on the floor. A rank of stormtroopers cowered in the corner. Frightened politicians stared in their direction, expecting the worst – probably expecting Vader to kill Padmé. He would _never._

At last, Vader spoke. "Senator Amidala, is it? The emperor wishes to have a word, _immediately_." It was the perfect excuse.


End file.
